


Skin Deep

by Sorshania



Series: Questionning Beliefs - Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorshania/pseuds/Sorshania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris does not understand why Hawke choose to spend so much time in his company.</p>
<p>He decides to use this opportunity to learn more about the man.</p>
<p>When Hawke betray him, he'll be ready.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin Deep

Fenris swallowed the last drop of wine before throwing the bottle away. The sound echoed through the empty mansion.

“I have to ask: is it because of some kind of tradition that requires you to break a bottle each time you finish it?” his companion asked.  
"Only this wine.”  
“I guess I should consider myself lucky to have asked for a glass before you broke the bottle.” Hawke said contemplating the glass in his hand. “Should I start throwing it too when I'm done? For the sake of tradition, of course.”  
“Help yourself. I have already told you; there are more in the cellar.”

Hawke simply chuckled and set his empty glass down on the bench beside him while Fenris sat down in the chair facing the rogue. For a time, neither spoke and simply stared at the fire, letting peace wash over them in the shared silence. Outside, night had settled over Kirkwall's Hightown district a few hours ago. The elf wondered how many gangs will be outside preying on the streets. He often helped Hawke take a few of them out but new ones always seemed to spring up.

Fenris glanced at the man from under his fringe. Hawke was staring at the fire, lost in his thoughts. They were probably happy ones, judging by the soft smile curling his lips. He found the firelight suited the rogue well. It brought out the red highlights from the man's spiky brown hair while his eyes appeared to be a shade darker than their usual amber color.

The elf scoffed softly when he caught himself staring at the man, again. He still had to figure what Hawke's motive was. Since they came back from the Deep Roads expedition, the rogue had been a steady visitor to Fenris' mansion, sometimes bringing food, sometimes gifts. Little trinkets he thought Fenris would like. The elf however could not believe Hawke sought him out for the pleasure his company alone.

Fenris had made the mistake, one night when he drank more than usual, of admitting his attraction to the man. Hawke had smiled and had tried to kiss him but Fenris reacted instinctively. Maybe a little forcefully. Nonetheless, Hawke apologized for his action as soon as his jaw was healed. Since then, Fenris noticed the rogue was careful of keeping his hands in sight whenever he stepped into the elf's personal space and always made sure to leave him enough room to move. It did not stop his visits to Fenris' mansion, claiming that the elf never left his place unless there was a job to do and thus Fenris would miss the chance of forming long lasting relationships.

The truth was that Fenris dared not leave the estate. Even thought the manor did not belong to Danarius, as he previously believed, there was always a chance his former master came back to it. Better face him in a place he was already familiar with rather than in the middle of nowhere.

Fenris had been surprised when Hawke declared he would help clear the place of the decaying body parts and skeletons. When he asked why the man wanted to help, Hawke simply answered that he helped kill all these people. The last thing he could do was to clean his mess. And he wasn't the only one. Varric had recruited the crew to patch the roof and replace the broken windows. Aveline, the recently appointed Captain of the guards, had agreed to have more guards patrol outside the manor, just in case. Even Anders helped, setting wards on the doors and around the place. Fenris never knew what Hawke told the mage for him to even accept this task. The elf had grumbled a bit at this but Hawke pointed out that it never hurt to have a little magic on their side.

That night, after everyone left, he laid in his bed thinking, unable to sleep. He had rejected Hawke's advances and had truly believed the rogue would turn him to Danarius in as retaliation. He wouldn't have been the first to do so. Fenris was surprised when the man not only stayed but tried to be his friend instead. This was not something Fenris was familiar with. After all, he and Hawke rarely, if ever, saw anything eye to eye. They butted heads almost constantly, on any subject, especially regarding the mages' situation in Kirkwall.

Fenris thought all mages to be dangerous and should be kept under close watch, while Hawke sided with Anders, arguing mages only acted crazy because they were more often than not pushed to their limits. Each time the issue arose, too often if the elf was honest, they would argue for hours. Sometimes until sunrise, never solving anything. Hawke appeared to enjoy those discussions and, to be honest, so did Fenris.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that Hawke would show his true colors very soon. Before falling asleep, he decided he should take advantage of Hawke's visits to learn more about the rogue. Like this, when Hawke betrayed him, he would be ready.

“Is there something on my face?” Hawke asked, cutting through the elf's thoughts.  
“Why are you asking?”  
"You've been staring at me for the last couple of minutes. Last time you did that, I ended up with a black eye and a fractured jaw so I'm a little worried.”

Fenris smiled lightly, “I have just come to the realize I never asked what your first name was. I've been calling you by your surname for the last three years. It is not proper.”

Hawke made a face “Believe me, you're not missing anything. It's pompous and awful. I think my mother insisted and my father decided it was not worth fighting.”  
“Surely it's not that bad.”  
"Says the one who doesn't remember his own.” Hawke shot back without thinking.

Fenris blinked, Hawke rarely mentioned the elf's amnesia. It was part of the unspoken agreement between the two of them. Fenris would not comment on Bethany's situation, Hawke's younger sister who has been taken to the Gallows and Hawke would refrain asking about Fenris' past. Of course, sometimes Hawke would mention the letter Bethany had sent and where she talked about her life in the mages' Circle. Sometimes, Fenris would share a memory of his time as Danarius' bodyguard.

“Fenris, I'm sorry. I shouldn't -”  
“Why not? It is the truth, isn't it?” Fenris cut in. “I don't remember my name.” He looked at Hawke for a moment. “I did not realize the subject of **your** name was so sensitive however. If so, I apologize.”

Hawke stared at him for a moment, trying to see if the elf was serious. “There's nothing to apologize for, Fenris.” he said slowly, “Kids used to tease me about it all the time back in Whitespead. I simply stopped mentioning it, preferring my surname instead.” he said. “But if you insist, allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Vanhtiel Hawke, at your service.” Hawke bowed, his hands crossed on his chest, right over his heart.

Fenris frowned, “Weren't you from Lothering?”  
Hawke shook his head, “My parents settled there a year before Carver and I joined the army. We moved quite a bit before that.”  
“I see. But I don't understand why you should be ashamed of your name. It is honorable.”  
“That's exactly what my mother told me. Too bad the other kids didn't seem to agree.”

Fenris waited for Hawke to continue but the man stayed silent. “What did they do?” he asked after a time, wine making him feel bolder than usual.  
“Huh?”  
“The children. What did they do for you to choose to go only by your surname?”  
“You know, the usual. We were newcomers so they felt they had the right to put us down.” A shrug. “It usually was taunts or being tossed in the mud. It stopped when I grew a head taller than their leader and I started throwing him back. It also helped that my father taught me and Carver some basic defense moves.” A feral grin. “Names calling too, plenty of those. That stopped after I broke Damian's nose.”

Now Fenris was getting curious. Hawke rarely talked about his past, focusing instead on the task at hand and hiding his emotions behind sharp wit and quick humor. Such opportunity was too good to miss. “What kind of names?” he asked.

Much to his surprise, Hawke turned beet red and refused to meet his eyes. Which was odd. The more Fenris stared, the harder Hawke blushed.

Finally, he muttered something, more to the fire than to the elf and Fenris strained a little to hear. “They thought you had an elvhen name?” he asked, surprised. “Why would they believe such thing?”  
“Dalish elves sometimes came to Whitespead for trade. They kept to themselves most of the time but I was enthralled. I kept sneaking around their camp, trying to learn more about their ways. They always caught me and send me back to my father. Luckily, they did not made too much of a fuss about it. I could say it even became a game between me and them.”

That would explain why Hawke kept visiting the blood mage in the Alienage. “I still don't understand how would anyone think an Orlesian name could be elvhen.”

Hawke looked up sharply. “You know the origins of my name?”  
“Of course, the ballad of the 'Chevalier Edouard Valentine's last stand' was a very popular one in Minrathous. 'Vanhtiel' is how it is pronounced in Ferelden, am I right?”

Hawke nodded, dumbfounded. Fenris smirked.

The rogue coughed before he continued his tale. “Well... Most of the Dalish names we heard often end up in '-iel', and it wasn't long before Damian started to spread rumors about how I was the product of an ill-relationship between my mother and some Dalish elf. When I heard about it, well... let's just say it wasn't a peaceful meeting. Unfortunately, my father arrived as I was doing my very best to drown the blighted son of a bitch in the mud. He was furious! Maker! The trashing I got... I was sure I'd carry the scars until the rest of my life.” Hawke chuckled and shook his head.

Fenris blinked, “I don't understand. Weren't you defending your mother's honor? Shouldn't he be proud?”

Hawke smiled a little and hunched forward in chair with a sigh. “When I grew up, we had but one true rule in the family. 'Keep your head down and don't make waves.' My father was an apostate, just like my sister. To attract attention was dangerous for the two of them as well to the rest of the family. When I jumped at Damian, I broke that rule and that is why Father was mad. I think he was afraid to have to move again. It was hard on my mother.”

The elf pondered on this, not wanting the discussion to turn into another endless debate about mages' rights. “So, you let the matter drop?” he asked instead.  
Hawke's grinned viciously. “Are you serious? Of course I didn't. But this time, I did it 'discreetly', as my father encouraged me to. Or so I thought at the time.”

Fenris considered Hawke for a moment and tried to imagine the rogue aiming for discretion. Not that it should be too hard; despite a tendency of showing off, the man had a knack for hiding in plain sight. However, the only image he conjured was one of a gangly teenage Hawke, hiding behind a tree and throwing rotten apples at the head of his enemy. His lip curled slightly at the mental image.

“I have no idea what you're imagining but it wasn't that bad.” Hawke said, “And I'll have you know I can be very discreet when I need to be.”

The elf chuckled. “I believe you. What did you do then?”

“I played on their fears. I 'borrowed' some of my father's writing inks and dressed in all in shades of brown and green. My plan was to disguise myself as a Dalish elf and wait for the night. Since they believed I was half-elvhen, I'd be their elfish nightmare.”

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Trust Hawke to come up with such an outrageous plan. The rogue tried to argue. “Oh come on! I was 15! What exactly did you expect?”  
“Is this what you could call 'discretion'?”  
“You haven't heard the best part yet.”  
“There's a best part?”  
“The ink was permanent.”  
“What?”

Hawke shrugged, “My father was developing an permanent ink for his grimoires so he could work outside in any weather. Just a cantrip really. It worked too, maybe a little too well.”

Fenris looked at Hawke's face, paying close attention to his tattoos for the first time. Hawke nodded, answering the unspoken question. “I never was much of an artist.”  
“It's not that bad. Did you really drew them all yourself?”

Hawke shook his head and pointed at the one covering his right eye. “Only this one. Started to burn like Hell as soon as I put the ink on my face. I took the pain like a man, of course; I dived into the nearest barrel filled with rain water, screaming bloody murder between each breath. That's when Father chose to appear.”

Fenris covered his eyes with his right hand and exhaled slowly, trying not to laugh. “He must have been furious.” he said instead.  
“I have no idea. The man couldn't stop laughing long enough to say anything. Now, my mother however, threw a proper fit once she saw me. Personally, I thought she was being a trifle over-dramatic. I mean there I was, soaked through with my eye swelling to the size of an apple and here was my mother, giving my father hell, while he tried to stand up but couldn't since he wouldn't stop laughing. I could understand her point but I'm sure it could have waited until he did something about my situation.”

The elf burst out laughing. The sound bounced off the walls and around the empty room, joyous and free. “Well... I'm happy to see the embarrassing story of my younger years amuses you so.” Hawke drily noted, but he was smiling too.  
“It's not... It's just... I can see you standing there, dripping, with your jaw clenched and steam coming out of your ears.” Fenris finally managed to say between intakes of breath. “What happened then?” he asked when he felt calm enough to speak. The man might not have Varric's talents for storytelling but Fenris was drawn into Hawke's tale, despite himself.

“Nothing glorious, if it is what you were expecting.” Hawke answered, his eyes twinkling. “After a time, which felt more like an eternity, Father managed to get a hold of himself and calm my mother down. I never knew what he told her but she left, muttering to herself. He then sat me down on so he could get a closer look at my face. You have know, my father never was much of a healer, but I still remember the cool touch of his magic when he worked on the swelling of my eye. Once it was reduced, he asked me what crazy idea had gone through my head, this time around. After I finished describing my grand plan – wannabe Dalish tattoos and all – he sat down in front of me, crossed his arms and just stared a while.”

_Malcolm Hawke came to a decision and took out his favorite quill from one of the pouches hanging from his belt. Grabbing the discarded ink pot, he dipped the quill's tip inside, never taking his eyes off his eldest. Vanhtiel stared, mesmerized, as magic sparked from his father's fingertips to quill down to the ink itself. The mixture soon started to glow in a bluish-purple light._

_“They insulted Mother's honor.” Vanhtiel said._   
_“No they haven't. They insulted you and I thought we had already settled this matter.” Malcolm answered._   
_“You said I only had be be discreet!”_   
_“And you call that 'discreet'?” his father asked. “Do you know how close you were to actually start a war between the Dalish and the people of Whitespead?”_

_Vanhtiel paled, “What?! No! It's... It would be...”_   
_“Silly? Of course it is. Like your great idea of using another culture to scare a stupid boy, was silly. Racism is always silly, Vanh, if not downright stupid. I thought you knew that.”_

_Vanhtiel stared at his feet, ashamed and impressed by the disappointment that so rarely rang in his father's voice. Malcolm sighed and he grabbed his son's shoulder “I know it wasn't your intention pup, but you have to think your ideas through before you act on them. Especially if their consequences will affect others, and I'm not talking about the rest of the family here.”_   
_“Dad I... I'm sorry...” Vanhtiel said, sniffling._   
_“I'm not the one you should be apologizing to.”_

_The two of them sat in silence for some time. Malcolm gently grabbed his son's chin and tilted Vanhtiel's face up. “Now, I cannot remove the ink from your face but I can finish the design if you want. It won't look very Dalish since I suck as an artist and it'll hurt like Hell as you might have guessed. But you won't look as if you've had a permanent black eye.”_

_Vanhtiel gulped down and nodded, “Go ahead, Father.”_

“Did you apologized to the Dalish?” Fenris asked softly, afraid to break the spell Hawke has spun with his tale.

The rogue blinked and shook himself awake. “Never had the chance. By the time the swelling resorbed, they had left. It took a month before I could go out; my face had swollen up roughly to the size of a pumpkin. Carver had a field day making fun of me and Bethany used my as a guinea pig for her potions.” Hawke chuckled, “Don't tell her this but I'd rather have my brother making fun of me than my sister trying to help. I love her but she's a lousy healer.”

Fenris smiled. Even he admitted, only when he was very drunk, that Hawke's sister did not have Anders' skill when it came to healing. Hawke continued. “Anyway, to cut it short, Father moved us all to Honnleath where we stayed for a few years before moving again to Lothering.”

Silence, only broken by the cracking coming from the fireplace, stretched between them. “So, you go by your surname because children made fun of you when you were young. When you tried to seek revenge, disguised as a Dalish, your own father stopped you for fear your foolish plan start a war. Have I miss anything?” Fenris asked.  
“You know, I think I like my way of telling story better.” Hawke said, sounding offended.  
“Thought, something is not right.”  
“Oh? Like what? You think I made it all up?”  
“No. However, I think your reaction and your 'plan' a bit disproportionate for a simple rumor and name calling. Even for you.”

Hawke sat back in his chair and watched Fenris out the corner of his eyes. “ _Touché_.” he conceded, slightly inclining in head toward the elf. “There is more to this story alright, but it will be for another time. I can't really tell you ALL my embarrassing stories, you'll think I'm idiot. More than you already do, anyhow.” Hawke stood up and stretched. When he heard Fenris 'harrumphed' and grabbed the last bottle of wine, he simply grinned.

Fenris did not bother to get out of his chair. Hawke had been at the manor often enough to feel as if it was his second home. “Fair enough. But tell me: what was the real reason you tried to pass yourself for an elf, Hawke?” he asked, starring at the bottle he held in his hand. Maybe he did drink too much tonight. Then again, it could explain why Hawke sought his company even after he made it clear he wasn't interested.

“Well, what can I say? I like elves. Especially the broody ones.” Hawke answered back, grinning. Fenris felt his heart miss a beat. It appeared the man had not abandon his plans of seduction. Before he could react – Hawke moved very fast when he needed to – the rogue was at the door, calling over his shoulder. “I'll see you tomorrow. Aveline wants us to talk to Emeric. We'll be heading for the Gallows, first thing in the morning.”

Fenris sunk deeper in his chair, breathing deeply, trying to convince himself the fluttering feelings in the pit of his stomach was only caused by the alcohol and nothing else.

 

The End


End file.
